


These are the reasons you're ruled by the things you feel

by InvertedPhantasmagoria



Category: Bleach
Genre: Begging, Biting, Denial of Feelings, Dry Orgasm, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, First Time, Hand Jobs, Headcanon, Hollows are miserable, Kissing, Loss of Control, Nipple Play, Overstimulation, Porn with Feelings, Reader-Insert, Sexual Inexperience, Teasing, Touch-Starved, Trust Issues, instincts, mild xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:15:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27716668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvertedPhantasmagoria/pseuds/InvertedPhantasmagoria
Summary: Instead, your mouth is pressed to his. The taste of your saliva fills his mouth, and your thumb strokes over his collarbone, dangerously close to his Hollow hole. Your lips are warm and your body is soft under his hands.You’ve said he’s a terrible kisser, as still as stone and twice as cold. You also laugh when you say it, which doesn’t make much sense at all.Lightly, now, you nip at Ulquiorra’s lip with blunt human teeth that don’t bring more than the slightest sting. If he tensed his Hierro, Ulquiorra wouldn’t feel it at all. Biting without intent to hurt is one of the strange, human things that Ulquiorra will never understand. Right now, you’ve said that you want to give Ulquiorra something called his ‘first time’. He agreed to it out of curiosity, not at all because of how happy you looked.
Relationships: Ulquiorra Cifer/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 181





	These are the reasons you're ruled by the things you feel

**Author's Note:**

> Next tumblr request, done! Like I said, I wanted to get a couple of these taken care of. XD This time, we have bat-baby's first smut, featuring Ulquiorra being a dick and getting wrecked. Major headcanon here that having no sense of touch for most of his life means that Ulquiorra is veeeeery sensitive to contact... No warnings other than lots of smut and Ulquiorra having emotional issues~
> 
> arrancxr.tumblr.com

Your hands are warm. The human heat should be disgusting. Feeling something with a pulse and hot blood running just under the skin should be nothing but nauseating. There’s no reason why a human like you should be anything but food, and perhaps a piece of prey to toy with. 

But Ulquiorra learned long ago that eating gets him nowhere. The taste of clear meat that dissolves before ever getting down his throat never did him any favors. Prey became boring around the same time that consumption turned useless. Ulquiorra is above needs such as pointlessly tormenting something that can’t fight back. Your body is weak and helpless. Ulquiorra could snap your neck in a second if he so felt like it. 

Instead, your mouth is pressed to his. The taste of your saliva fills his mouth, and your thumb strokes over his collarbone, dangerously close to his Hollow hole. Your lips are warm and your body is soft under his hands. 

You’ve said he’s a terrible kisser, as still as stone and twice as cold. You also laugh when you say it, which doesn’t make much sense at all. 

Lightly, now, you nip at Ulquiorra’s lip with blunt human teeth that don’t bring more than the slightest sting. If he tensed his Hierro, Ulquiorra wouldn’t feel it at all. Biting without intent to hurt is one of the strange, human things that Ulquiorra will never understand. Right now, you’ve said that you want to give Ulquiorra something called his ‘first time’. He agreed to it out of curiosity, not at all because of how happy you looked. 

You always want to touch him. Warm fingers against his skin, even through the fabric of his uniform, make Ulquiorra’s skin feel like it’s crawling with fire and little things with legs. Every nerve feels  _ raw  _ when your hands are on him, but strange parts of him like that feeling just as they hate it. 

What you’ve said now will be is a ‘first time’. Sex. Human procreation. Ulquiorra is certain that his species could never reproduce (Szayel had  _ happily  _ reported that fact a long time ago), so whyever you want to do something like that with him is beyond comprehension. It feels good, you say. It feels good, and Ulquiorra will like it. It all seems like a very human thing to do, which should be beneath him altogether. But even though it  _ should  _ be that, there’s a spark of  need curiosity in Ulquiorra’s chest. 

“Kiss me back,” you say softly, then your lips move against his again. 

The feel of your lips against his and the taste of the inside of your mouth does things to Ulquiorra’s insides that he doesn’t understand. Until he became an Arrancar, he’d never tasted anything at all. And now; you. 

For a moment, he humors you and ‘kisses back’. This involves mirroring your movements in the same way that you’ve said he’s terrible at. Ulquiorra doesn’t know why you bother. If he’s not good at satisfying you with it, why do you ask? All you’ll say is that you like his touch. 

Which makes just as little sense as many of the things you say. 

After kissing for a while longer, you instruct Ulquiorra to sit down on your bed. He does as he’s told, not seeing a point in resisting right now. 

And then, you sit down with him. You give him another kiss, this one slower and softer and short. Then, your lips move down to his jaw, where you press a little kiss there as well. The feeling of a mouth that close to his throat sends a little shock of instinct through him.  _ Bad,  _ says foolish, useless reflexes. Don’t let you that close. He smothers those feelings quickly.

Your kisses trail along his jawbone, wet and warm. When you  _ nip  _ at the skin there, Ulquiorra’s fingers twitch. Again, your teeth are small and blunt, but the light scrape of them feels... something. Definitely something.

“May I kiss your neck?” you ask in a whisper. 

“Do as you please,” Ulquiorra says, not quite sure if he’s bored by this or on edge. You’ll be done soon enough, won’t you? It’ll be over. 

And you do so. Your mouth finds the side of Ulquiorra’s throat, and you lay another row of kisses there. Instinct makes his fingers twitch again, and a small breath hisses out when you  _ bite.  _ There’s no pain, still, but there’s the feeling of nerves unused to touch being stimulated suddenly. 

Your mouth moves down slowly, pausing only to drag your hot tongue against the tendons in his neck. When you’re low enough, you tug his collar out of the way and nip at his collarbone. You don’t so much as try to go near his Hollow hole. Smart. You know better than to try to touch there without warning. Not that you ever have before... even if your hands have been on Ulquiorra’s mask in ways that made him do things that he--

Ulquiorra isn’t going to think about that. Not now. Not ever. 

“Can you take off your shirt?” is the next strange question out of your mouth. “Everything else too, if that’s not too much.”

“Very well.”

Ulquiorra sighs quietly, shortly. You move back from him so he has room to strip off his uniform shirt. If he was weaker, revealing his chest, stomach, and vital organs would send a surge of fear through him. 

But Ulquiorra isn’t weak, and you’d be no threat even if he was. He also stands to remove his hakama and the clothes under it. You don’t move to take anything off of yourself, and that... feels strange, somehow. Some impulsive thought says that you should be removing your clothes as well, that he should be seeing the curve of your belly and your bare shoulders. 

When Ulquiorra sits back down on the bed, the fabric of your blankets against his bare skin draws a little shiver from him. He’s rarely unclothed, and especially never touching such soft things when he is. His body, Ulquiorra knows, still isn’t quite used to having a sense of touch at all. 

You move to touch him again. This time, you place a hand on his stomach. Your skin is warm, so warm, and you trail that hand up to his ribcage, then back down to just inches above where his genitalia begins. That path repeats again and again, and you lean in to kiss him softly, without a hint of teeth. Now that his body is exposed, something is  _ different.  _ The shock of contact makes Ulquiorra’s eyes widen where he hopes you can’t see it. You don’t need to get any ideas about him being affected. 

As the moment drags on, Ulquiorra’s stomach begins to feel warm. Not the skin, not from your touch, but something internal and deep. 

Your free hand goes to the back of his head and your fingers tangle with his hair. You don’t touch his mask, and Ulquiorra might be thankful for that. The times that you do, Hollow instinct causes things that Ulquiorra both despises and can never stop leaning into. He doesn’t let you do it often. 

And... the touching continues. The hand tangled in his hair soon wanders down lower, stroking a line from the lower part of his skull down to his shoulder blades. Within a few minutes of that, even when your mouth pulls away from his, Ulquiorra is starting to feel overstimulated and strange. There’s too much contact. Between the blankets on your bed and your warm, warm hands, it’s quickly crossing lines of  _ too much.  _ However, that’s not the kind of thing he can just say. He’s not that weak.  _ Never. _

Soon, when you’ve pulled back from kissing him altogether, leaving Ulquiorra’s mouth feeling wet and vaguely swollen from the pressure, the hand on his stomach drops to the inner surface of his thighs. 

And  _ that  _ is somehow a shock of contact that makes the muscles under his skin twitch and jump. The heat that had been forming in Ulquiorra’s lower abdomen suddenly spikes in a sharp, hot pulse. He swallows around nothing. Whatever this is, it’s not a feeling that he’s experienced before. 

The other strange thing is that his genitals, the useless organs that serve Hollows and Arrancar alike no purpose, are starting to respond. 

The thing between his legs gives a slight, not-even-visible twitch when your fingers get too close to it, and Ulquiorra feels internal muscles squeeze. Your hand, thankfully, pulls away from his thigh before any control can start to slip. Not that it would. Ulquiorra has better self-control than to allow mere touches to affect him. His body wouldn’t respond like that for long. 

And then, your fingers flick over a nipple. Ulquiorra twitches far more this time. A part of his body that he’d never paid any mind to before just sent a  _ shock  _ of heat all the way down to his gut. When he glances down, mystified, he sees the vivid, blush-colored pink of his nipples against his pale skin, and the same pink lower down, flushing the thing between his legs with color. It’s a strange sight that somehow feels like it should be shameful.

“You’re pretty,” you whisper with a little laugh when you notice him looking. “I love how pink these are. I wonder how much darker they’ll get.”

“Stop talking,” Ulquiorra says coldly. He doesn’t need to hear you saying stupid things while he’s struggling, actually  _ struggling  _ to keep his body from responding to all of this. Your mouth can remain shut. 

“Okay, okay. But, Ulquiorra... the  _ point  _ of this is to feel good. Stop trying to ignore it. The sooner I make you come, the sooner this is over with, yeah? And if you keep resisting it, that’ll take ages. Let yourself feel things, alright?” You sound happy, amused. Ulquiorra scowls. 

There’s a point in what you say. If you do whatever you wish to his body, then you’ll be done with it and  _ he  _ can be done with this forever.

You take his silence as a chance to  _ pinch  _ a nipple now. That draws a faint, almost silent hiss of breath from Ulquiorra’s lungs. This needs to be finished, and quickly. As pathetic as it is, your hands on his skin, seeping warmth down into the core of him, are doing things to Ulquiorra’s composure that he can’t stand. Making him  _ feel  _ things. And yes, he’s fallen apart under your touch before, as much as despises to even think of those moments. This is different. Sex is an entirely human act; he can’t allow himself to fall. 

Your mouth returns to his throat. Your hand finally leaves his nipples alone and goes back to his thighs instead. Ulquiorra’s breath is coming a little too quickly. He hates this. It’s disgusting, unpleasant, and makes his skin crawl. He can’t bring himself to so much as jerk away from your touch.

Slowly, the longer it goes on, the longer Ulquiorra can’t force himself to make you stop, the warmer his insides start to feel. His genitals begin to feel just as hot, and eventually, a strange feeling settles inside of that place. Ulquiorra has spent most of this interaction staring at the wall behind you, but when he looks down at himself again, the part of him that he imagines to be more or less what a human male has is  _ swelling.  _

Little by little, it’s filling out. The pink flush has darkened, and the penis itself is rising a bit from between his thighs. The sight makes a shiver run through Ulquiorra’s shoulders that he’d hate for you to feel. Is this arousal? Ulquiorra hadn’t thought he’d be  _ capable  _ of it. He’s not a person. He doesn’t have pathetic, useless feelings. He’s not like you. 

You nip at his collarbone and he sees the thing give a little jerking spasm. Your fingers trail a low, torturous path up to the naked crease of his thigh, tracing along the seam of groin and upper leg. He shivers once again.

Still, his breath is too fast. The muscles in his legs are trembling faintly under the skin. That strange, hot feeling is pooling endlessly in his stomach, and even his penis is tingling like it needs to be touched. As soon as that thought enters Ulquiorra’s head, he sucks in a sharp breath. Just the  _ thought  _ of your warm hands on that part of him sends a bolt of heat through his belly and down to his groin.  _ Why?  _ Why is he responding like this? No matter how much you want to pretend, Ulquiorra isn’t a person. There’s no reason why his body should respond to your touch like it wants to be. 

He’s becoming more sensitive. What were once merely pleasant touches are quickly turning into what feels like brushes against raw nerves. Every part of Ulquiorra’s body has seemingly been connected to the thing between his thighs-- every bit of contact goes right back to it in an instant. 

“Ready?” you ask in a low, soft, shiver-inducing tone of voice. 

Before Ulquiorra can manage any response, one of your warm, warm fingers traces a slow, barely-there line up his penis, which by now is more erect than not. Your skin drags along his for an  _ instant,  _ and--

The noise that leaves Ulquiorra’s throat is a high, breathy moan. 

His eyes widen. That  _ sound,  _ it can’t have just come from him. One little touch. All it took was one little touch to the swollen, flushed place that now feels like it’s  _ burning,  _ and he moaned. Shivering all over, Ulquiorra remains frozen for a long, long moment. Thoughts are failing him. 

There’s a smile on your lips and Ulquiorra feels like he can barely breathe. His blood is frozen in his veins in the wake of the shame. 

Suddenly, all he can think is that he wants that  _ again.  _

“Feel good?”

Ulquiorra can’t bring himself to speak. He doesn’t know what would come out. His whole body is tingling and hot, and this still isn’t over. You lean in again and kiss him, and the feeling is as sharp as being stabbed. 

One of your hands goes to the dip of his back. The drag of your fingers against his spine strokes against every nerve there and rubs them raw. 

“Do you want me to touch you again?” is your next question. “There. I’ll do it. This is what I wanted, you know. It felt good for you. That noise you made was so sweet, and I’ll do it again.” Your hot breath is close to his ear, and Ulquiorra should  _ rationally  _ be shoving you away. This is beyond ridiculous. He’s collapsing under the touch of your hands, your lips, and nothing more. Urges that he didn’t know he had are consuming him. 

“Cease this,” is all he can manage. His voice sounds far too shaky and far too weak. Your hand hasn’t left his back, and it’s all Ulquiorra can do not to lean into it just as he does when it’s your fingers against his mask. You smile with tender amusement, almost patronizing, almost kind. 

“Ask nicely. You know you want it. I’ll touch you again, but only when you ask. Otherwise, this keeps going until you do. Your choice.”

Ulquiorra’s shoulders tense. You’re mocking him. You’re using his body’s involuntary reactions against him and  _ mocking  _ him for it. A large part of him wants to stand up and leave this situation for good, but the burning heat under his skin can only ache for your fingerprints to make contact once again. Your face is inches away from his. He could kiss you again, and--

Your fingers trace circles an inch away from the base of him. 

Ulquiorra’s breath shudders against his will. 

“Kiss me,” he orders, hating the weakness in his own voice. If he just  _ says  _ it, you’ll get this over with. He won’t have to feel hot and fuzzy and strange anymore, not ever again. You won’t be able to do it again. 

“Nicer than that. You’re just telling me what to do.” With a little laugh, you nip at the shell of his ear. “Come on, I know you can do better.”

Ulquiorra considers the merits of forcing your hand to that place himself. He doesn’t want to know what his face looks like right now. Somehow, he knows he’s not managing his usual composure at all. 

“...touch me again,” he whispers. No more volume will leave him. 

It feels like his pride is shattering into pieces. Or perhaps, dying a violent death. Ulquiorra would be digging his nails into your bed if that wouldn’t be an obvious sign of weakness. Instead, he stays still as you press your lips to his one more time. Now, you use tongue. Overstimulated and  _ desperate  _ as he is, the taste of you makes him shudder all over. 

And blessedly, your hand returns to where he needs to be touched the most. For a moment, all you do is run your fingers around the very base, where the skin of his lower abdomen merges into the flushed, sensitive pink of his genitals. That touch alone makes Ulquiorra’s eyelids flutter shut. 

A gasp escapes. It’s quiet, barely there, but Ulquiorra feels his face begin to burn. His self-control is fleeing him, and all he has to replace it is the burning pleasure of contact with his skin. Fingers trace up his shaft, slow and steady, and Ulquiorra  _ shakes.  _ The direct contact is both too much and barely scratching the itch. The thought of pressure, of friction, of your hand wrapped around him... it all merges together into a solid wall of need that Ulquiorra can scarcely process. This isn’t meant for him. 

When you wrap your whole hand around him, Ulquiorra’s fingers actually do dig into the sheets, straining the fabric with tension. A strangled hiss leaves his lips. The thing you’re touching twitches pathetically. 

“Does this feel nice?” you ask in that same soft, infuriating voice. 

“Y-You--” Ulquiorra’s own voice  _ stutters.  _

“Your skin is soft,” you tell him, “not very warm, but it’s so smooth. Have you ever touched yourself here? You haven’t, right?”

“Of course not,” he hisses. “I d-don’t need-- Don’t  _ want  _ this. You’re the one doing it t-to me.” The shaking of his once-monotone voice makes Ulquiorra’s face feel much too hot. This isn’t right. He can’t be--

“You don’t like it?”

“N-No--”

“Okay, then maybe I’ll stop.” With what’s dangerously close to a smirk, you give his penis a long, slow stroke up and down, then  _ stop.  _

You pull your hand away altogether, leaving Ulquiorra aching in the wake of contact. Another sharp breath leaves him, but this time, the longing is clear. He can’t want this. He  _ can’t.  _ It makes no sense for a Hollow to long for a human’s hands, but-- but Ulquiorra has leaned into your fingers before when they were on his mask and in his hair, and is this really any different?

His chest heaves once, a shuddering inhale and exhale. He stares at you with eyes that he knows are shamefully wide. Getting your hand back around him feels like the only thing that he wants, and that very thought swings the sword down at what remains of his pride. Saliva fills Ulquiorra’s mouth. His hands are trembling. You’re looking at him with open, tender amusement, and that expression is almost too painful to bear. 

If he asked again, you’d touch him again. That much is easy to understand. Ulquiorra can’t stand the thought of  _ begging,  _ but now, with the thing between his legs hard and straining with need, should he?

It feels like he’s gone stupid. His head is blank with what controlled thoughts should be there and whatever pride. All his base instincts can think of is getting more and more touch, more and more stimulation. He has to say something. The sooner you finish this, the sooner it’s over for good. 

“...continue,” he says, hating the sound of it. 

“Oh? So you do like it?” You’re taunting him. Ulquiorra grits his teeth despite himself. His fingers dig into the sheets once again with irritation. 

“Yes,” he says bluntly. He refuses to show any more weakness. If saying it gets you to bring this to an end, he can spit it out for the sake of sparing his pride. “So hurry up. Get to whatever end you know this has.”

You trace your fingers feather-light up the exposed underside of the shaft. A faint wheezing noise leaves him at the breath of contact. “This feels good, right? I want you to tell me. We both know you’re enjoying it, whether you want to admit it or not, so just say it. I’ll take care of you and make you feel so good. You’re sensitive, right? And everything feels like too much?”

Your rambling makes him sick. Ulquiorra’s shoulders tense. Like the human you are, you’re making a nuisance of yourself and making this harder than it should be. But the thought of your fingerprints dragging against his skin again somehow makes those things matter far less than they should. 

“Just keep going. I will not humor your stupid human impulses. You wanted this, so finish it. This was the ‘first time’ you had in mind for me, was it not?” Ulquiorra knows he’s losing his cool, but he can’t  _ stop.  _

“Mmm..” you hum. “That sounds better. Sort of. You have such an attitude, you know that? Why can’t you just  _ enjoy  _ something?”

Ulquiorra bristles, but his flash of annoyance is quickly cut off by you wrapping your hand around him once again. This time, holding it still, you scoot in closer and begin to mouth at his neck. Your lips dip lower, towards his collarbone, and find a place dangerously close to the outer edge of his Hollow hole. Sensation even that close sends a shock of instinctive  _ hide  _ through Ulquiorra’s lungs. But even as his body curls in the smallest bit on reflex, his penis twitches helplessly within your loose, easy grip. 

You stroke him a couple of times, punctuated with light nips to his skin. Ulquiorra tries to remember to breathe properly. The longer this drags on, the more sensitive he’s getting. Skin that’s never been touched is electrified with the surging shock of warm, gentle contact, and it burns. 

After so long of feeling nothing, every touch is both too much and the only thing he needs. The pathetic part of his brain that’s consumed solely by base instincts wants nothing more than to have this forever, to force himself closer to you until he can crawl inside your ribcage and occupy the space near the heart that he can never have. His rational brain hates the thought.

Your fingers crawl along his skin slowly and tenderly. Ulquiorra’s head tips back the slightest amount, baring his throat to your teeth. No Hollow should dare to do so, no matter how little of a threat he knows you are. 

The heat of your mouth against his jugular feels  _ good.  _

And Ulquiorra sinks into it. The slow pulse and stroke of your hand, too gentle to get far, makes the heat in his belly rise in a slow, steady climb. He doesn’t know if sex always takes this long or if you’re just teasing him for your own amusement, but the waves of pleasure are eating him alive. 

Slowly, Ulquiorra’s head becomes fuzzier. The longer you touch him like this, the harder it is to remember why he hates it as he thought. 

It feels good. The swollen, sensitive skin under your hand feels good. His eyes flutter closed, the muscles in his thighs twitch and jump, and with nothing more than slow, feather-light touches, Ulquiorra slowly melts. 

“So good,” you praise in a whisper against a tendon in his neck. “You’re finally calming down, aren’t you? It’s not that bad, see?”

The affection in your voice is suffocating him. Ulquiorra is finding it hard to breathe. Every nerve on him feels raw and oversensitive, and faint, wheezing moans keep slipping out of him whenever he lets his guard down enough to try to pull himself together. He can barely think around the tenderness he hears whenever you speak. Hollows aren’t meant for this.  _ He’s  _ not meant for this. That’s the only coherent thought that hasn’t scattered like dust to the wind. There’s nothing  _ fair  _ about this. 

“Make it end,” he whispers at last. When the words come out, they’re so quiet and shaky that Ulqiorra can scarcely believe it’s his voice. His body is overheating. His skin is tingling and burning with awful, awful need. 

“I’m surprised you haven’t come yet...” you say almost fondly. “With how sensitive you are and all. I guess I should be a little nicer to you.”

With a hidden smile and a soft bite to Ulquiorra’s jawbone, you tighten your grip. The next stroke with that pressure draws a  _ keen  _ out of him. Ulquiorra’s hips snap up in a reflexive motion that’s entirely out of his control. Saliva pools in his mouth, and every part of him sparks with heat. 

Too much. The only thing his stupid, addled head can supply is  _ too much.  _ Against his overstimulated nerves, that kind of friction is almost painful. Instantly, the sharp, hot feeling in his stomach spikes much too quickly. Everything you’re touching throbs. Ulquiorra feels himself twitch into your hand, feels his hips twist and buck. The noises leaving him have been reduced to whiny moans that sound so pitiful and broken it  _ can’t  _ be him. 

Whatever’s going to happen next, Ulquiorra is almost convinced that he’s going to burn up and die. He’s torn holes in your blankets by now, and he’s not sure why he can’t bring himself to shove you away. 

“Relax,” you say. “Let it go. You’re close, right? Just let go.”

With hot, whispered breath in his ear, you breathe words that don’t make a bit of sense. Then, you kiss him once more, all soft lips ad no teeth.

Your thumb swipes over the head of him, against a place that hasn’t been touched yet and the small slit there, and Ulquiorra cries out much too loudly. Some terrible, wonderful feeling boils over. Something pulls tight in his gut. The next thing he knows, he’s shuddering all over, moaning helplessly, and curling in on himself like he’s dying a second time. 

It feels like it goes on forever. Ulquiorra can’t find his breath. It hurts, it  _ hurts,  _ but it feels so good he’s drowning under the tide. How a lifeless, heartless being could feel like this, Ulquiorra will never understand. 

This is what  _ feeling  _ means. 

But slowly, the heat begins to ebb. Ulquiorra shakes all over, and little by little, remembers how to inhale. Your hand is at his back now, rubbing slow lines. Every part of him feels so overstimulated that even that small bit of contact against his naked skin has him whining under his breath. 

And worst of all, your other hand hasn’t left him. Mercifully, you’ve stilled the stroking, but the lingering pressure and the heat of touch has Ulquiorra’s hips trying to twitch away. When his vision focuses, the first thing that he sees is your face. Your expression is warm and tender, and your smile hovers between amused and painfully fond. A shudder runs through Ulquiorra once again. What he needs is unclear, but he  _ needs.  _

“Feel good? I bet that was a lot.” In a crooning tone, you rub your fingers slowly and tormentingly against Ulquiorra’s too-tender skin. 

It’s torture. His breath stutters and his thighs squeeze helplessly together. A sound that’s dangerously close to a whimper escapes. Ulquiorra’s head tips back, baring his throat. You could bite it, instinct-mind supplies. You could sink your teeth in, pin him down, and force him to submit. Even though he knows you’re nothing but a human, the thought lingers. 

You stroke him until he’s choking on awful sounds, trembling painfully hard under the friction and pressure of warm skin against where everything is much too tender. Ulquiorra feels, truly, like he’s going to shake apart. 

“ _ St-Stop, _ ” he begs when he can make his voice work again. 

Pleading should be beneath him, but at this point, all he wants is for this to be over. The pleasure is all-consuming, too much. 

“Alright, we’ll be done.” 

With one last, agonizingly  _ good  _ rub of your thumb against the tip of him, you finally take your hand away. Ulquiorra sags against your side instantly. There’s no strength left in him to hold himself up. He’s panting. There’s a trail of escaped drool smeared along his chin. 

The next thing Ulquiorra knows, you’re pulling his naked body down to the blankets beside yourself. You pull him close to you so he’s pressed close, all but chest to chest. Even the faintest brush of his penis against the fabric of your pants makes him yelp and twitch. It should be humiliating. Ulquiorra is not the type to  _ cuddle.  _ He never has been, and yet, when his body is this close to yours, when your human heat is sinking into him and soothing every frayed nerve, he finds himself relaxing into your hold much too easily. 

He’s shaking all over. Just the faint, light contact of your hands on his skin is making him feel like he’s either going to cry or crawl out of his skin. It’s too much, but not enough. Having you hold him and pet him sounds better than anything. Distantly, Ulquiorra remembers his supposed  _ pride.  _

“You’re okay,” you soothe, coupled with a hand cupping the back of his neck. “That was a lot, wasn’t it? How was your first time?” You giggle a bit, soft and not at all mocking, and Ulquiorra can only lie there and take it. 

He’s spent, drained. He can’t muster up any energy to rebuke you or say anything in his defense. He can’t even make himself struggle or pull away from you. In brutal, aching honesty, Ulquiorra isn’t quite sure that he wants to. Your arm around him, squeezing, feels better than it should. 

And you lie there. Your steady breath is both agony and blessed calm, and when he closes his eyes and stills, Ulquiorra can feel the slow, even thrum of your heartbeat just inches away. Hollow-longing kicks in like a blade through the ribcage, bringing with it an equally stabbing pain. Once again, the permanent, forever-returning thought of  _ need  _ runs through him. It’s one that Ulquiorra has spent a lifetime ignoring, but in these weakest moments, it returns with teeth and claws.

“I love you,” you say, soft and gentle. Your fingers comb through the wispy hairs at the base of Ulquiorra’s neck. He  _ breathes.  _

Could he ever say it back? In a thought that he’s never had before, Ulquiorra finds himself wondering if he could even manage the words. He’s a heartless creature with no need for emotions, not soft ones or ones belonging to human-kind. 

Shaking with oversensation, Ulquiorra closes his eyes. The light in the room is too much. Your hands on his skin border it. The only thing he can focus on that doesn’t bring a stab of  _ too much  _ is the sounds of your body beside his. Human and warm, safe and alive. All are things that Ulquiorra will never have-- and all of this, brought on from small touches and a ‘first time’ that you gave him just for the sake of seeing what would happen. 

Feelings tug at Ulquiorra’s chest much too sharply. 


End file.
